


you and me beneath a starlit sky

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Brock Rumlow Needs a Hug, Familiars, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23368009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: As Brock’s Dark Baptism approaches, he must deal with Jack’s increasing distance.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: It's All in the Name (Take #1)





	you and me beneath a starlit sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> something a little bit different for my match, Kalika999. I really hope you like it!

“How’d you pick your familiar?”

Jack shrugged unhelpfully, leafing through the leather bound book resting on his knees. 

“I waited until it came to me.”

The shaggy black dog tilted its head up to look at Brock where it was curled at Jack’s feet. They were tucked in the corner of the library, their usual spot at the Academy, studying in the case of Bruce, Jack, Steve and Natasha. Clint was eating cold pizza he picked up from the cafeteria on the walk over and Bucky was lying across a surplus of chairs meant for the long wooden table with his head on Steve’s thigh. Brock had a pile of books surrounding him but his interest was on the one delivered to him from the Council. 

He had to select a Familiar before his Dark Baptism. 

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” Clint lowered the slice to his familiar, also a dog but a golden Labrador. “Pick a cool one. Like my pizza dog.”

Steve had a long-haired golden Labrador, Bucky a sleek black cat which hardly seemed fitting with his bulky build. Sam, an upper class man who was at the helm of an Ascension, and placement, had a falcon which Brock thought was neat but perhaps not for him. 

“I just don’t want to end up with a...weird familiar.”

Natasha glanced up at him, a small smile gracing her beautiful face as a black spider crawled from beneath glossy red hair resting on her shoulder. It scurried down her arm, across the paper she was currently writing, and up the other arm. A shiver crept up Brock’s spine. 

“I don’t think she liked your tone, Rums.” 

“I don’t think I like her, Nat.” Brock snipped.

Being the last one in the group to turn sixteen was a bummer, Brock had been anxiously looking for details that no one would divulge. All Brock knew was that since Jack’s Dark Baptism he had been less willing to come to his dorm at night which added to his list of worries. 

“You should be studying,” Jack waves a hand and the book slid away; Brock made a noise of protest. “Worry about a familiar later.”

“Think you can give me some info now,” Brock leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re all a bunch of assholes about this.”

“It’s a special time; that demands an amount of...secrecy, would you call it Stevie?” Bucky asked, tilting his head up to look at his boyfriend.

The blonde flickered a look down, lips curled upward. “Not secrecy, just… It’s sacred, y’know? For you and your family.”

“No mortals allowed.” Brock reminded him hollowly. He wasn’t a full blooded mage unlike the rest of his friends. 

His father had been mortal and a miserable son of a bitch that hated what his son was. His Nonna was human and couldn’t be attendance which Brock was doing his best to be okay with. Still, the idea of going into the ceremony alone scared him as much as he was ashamed to admit it.

“Did you guys finish your paper for Practical Applications?” Natasha tapped the end of her pen against the table top. 

“Mhm.” Steve said, peeking over the top of his book.

“Almost,” Bucky yawned, reaching down to scratch his familiar on top of its head. 

“I’ll get to it.” Clint said defensively and Natasha arched her brow at hers 

“I’m not sure what to write about,” Bruce sighed. “The summoning of food to third world locations to avoid further pollution?”

“Your love of mortal problems is so...boring.” Tony came from old magic, probably the most skilled out of them all but he didn’t seem too interested in sharpening his magical skills as much as he was in making up his own spells which was extremely frowned upon. “Perhaps I should focus my paper on how outdated what we taught is? Latin is a dead language.”

“I’m certain Professor Hill would enjoy failing you.” Natasha replied and Tony wrinkled his nose. 

“Pass, fail, who cares?”

Bucky lifted his head from Steve’s lap to look over the edge of the table. “Uh me? I wanna Ascend.” 

“Yes, Ascend to more advanced magic that you will never use because the Council expects us to live like mortals.” Tony rolled his eyes and Brock stopped listening.

It was a common rant, every few days at least. Jack occupied his thoughts, as he often did. His Ascension Advisor told him that there were different types of mages depending on where they drew their power. Power, not magic because they all had magic. For some, like Jack, Power came from control and concentration. Brock’s power was less stable: emotion and pain was the source of his power and Brock wasn’t as concerned about it as his Advisor was. 

“Brock Rumlow, you are chaos incarnate,” he would tell him after Brock inevitably narrowly avoided failure through an inappropriate burst of magic that achieved its goal but also caused some amount of damage. 

Brooding at the empty space in front of him, anxiety twisted in his gut. A Dark Baptism was a right of a passage so really he shouldn’t have been so worried about it. 

“Hey, Nat, check it out.”

Brock glanced up at Clint who had taken a dead flower from his binder. Brock had only just nailed the reanimating of a flower so he knew how challenging it was. Focusing your energy into something dead was a sensation unlike anything else. The emptiness, the fragility — it didn’t hAve the warmth of healing a wilting plant like they did in the beginning of the term. Brock didn’t understand how necromancers could do it. 

Clint balanced the dry stem in his palm and stared at it. It’s pale gray petals clung on daintily. He stared at it… And stared at it... And started at it… 

“Aw, flower, no.” Clint frowned, staring at the still very dead flower, before glancing up at the mildly amused redhead. “I did have it just yesterday l! I swear.”

“You’ll get it,” Natasha assured him, already back to her studies. 

Brock saw her hair starting to shift a bit and looked away before the spider made its appearance again. He snuck a look toward Jack, still completely focused on his studies. Really that had been his sole focus since his Baptism, evenings spent making out with heavy petting a memory. He wasn’t sure who he could tell about it, not without sounding like a pouting kid who was mad he didn’t have Jack’s full attention, especially when they weren’t exactly together. At least not openly because Kack hadn’t expressed any interest in it being outted. 

The rest of the day’s classes passed in a haze, twice Sam nudging him out a stupor as he stared off into the abyss rather than focusing on Magical Applications. Once Ms. Hill dropped the thick book on Histories of Magicked Peoples on his desk and nearly made him topple over in fear. He caught Jack’s eye at his table a row away, face...unreadable as always, 

Brock wished that telepathy was still taught but the Council had banned it thousands of years ago under the premise of it being immoral. 

He was trudging his way up the dorm steps, well aware that Jack would decline an invitation to hang out in his room after dinner. Brock didn’t know why he bothered to ask. Clearly feelings weren’t mutual between them and he just making himself out to be desperate by continuing to ask. But still, he intended to ask while they got their dinner, mentally preparing himself to smile at the rejection to hide how much it hurt.

He rounded the corner to the D-wing and stopped short as Natasha materialized before him. Getting over the initial fear, Brock tried to play off his pounding heart and yelp of shock by morosely asking, “You know this is the boy’s dorm right?”

“You’ve been in a weird mood these past few weeks,” she slung her bag over her shoulder and started toward his dorm. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing.” Brock knew he couldn’t send her away, Natasha did as she pleased and no one in their right mind wanted to cross the witch. 

He unlocked his door, nudging it open with his foot. His arms were still teeming with books about his upcoming Dark Baptism and familiars. He knew that his obsession in finding the right one was nothing more than a distraction to deal with Jack’s cold shoulder but he didn’t have the energy to worry about it at the moment.

Natasha cast a scorning look around his room. The tangle of navy blue sheets in a heap on the floor from Brock once again sleeping through his alarm, an overfilled recycling bin, his cluttered desk full of knick knacks his Nonna sent him, and a pile of dirty clothes in the corner that needed to be dealt with before they began to stink. 

“I know, I know. I need to clean up.”

“Looks better than Clint’s room — although that’s not saying much.” Natasha gave a lazy flick of her wrist and Brock’s dirty uniform he had piled in the desk chair last night flew to the corner. She took a seat, uninvited, and crossed her legs. “So.”

“So?” Brock was tired and frustrated. He didn’t want to sit down with her and rehash all his worries, even if she was the only one he could open up to completely about Jack. “It’s almost dinner, Nat. Can’t we catch up then?”

“No.” 

The spider made an appearance once more, this time crawling from the pocket of her button down, over the loosened tie and up her neck. 

“She doesn’t like to be stared at, Rumlow.”

Brock shot her a dirty look, tossing his sheets back onto his bed after dropping the books on his pillow. He knew that stalling was pointless, she’s get it out of him somehow anyway. 

“If you must know,” Brock began with a heavy sigh. “Jack has been...weird since his Baptism and it’s gotten even worse as mine gets closer. If he doesn’t like me, y’know, like that then that’s fine. I just wish he’d tell me.”

Natasha was expressionless, as usual. Brock let the silence sit between them, turning to look out the window and over the green where students were hanging out enjoying the last bit of sunlight the day offered. The big oak tree that had been there for hundreds of years seemed more somber than usual, casting its shadow heavily toward his window. The pattering of spider feet drew Brock’s eye back. 

“I really wish you wouldn’t let that disgusting spider on my desk.”

Her lips quirked a bit in a suppressed smile. “She,” Natasha corrected. “And she’s not jusr a spider, she’s a black widow.”

Brock deadpanned. “That’s even worse.”

Natasha got her feet, her familiar scurrying up her arm. “I think Jack is the last of your worries, Rums.”

Then, she materialized leaving Brock more confused than ever as he tried to figure out if she meant the Baptism or that Jack did actually like him. But Jack’s behavior suggested the opposite so he assumed it was a well meaning warning about the Baptism. Brock’s anxiety increased tenfold. 

•• •• •• ••

“Mr. Rumlow your focus will help immensely.”

Brock was focusing. ...Well, he was focusing the best he could considering that tonight he would swear his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Mr. Coulson wasn’t exactly compassionate about that, giving his usual tight-lipped look of disappointment at Brock’s failure to levitate the crystal vase. Honestly it was a pointless exercise, more of a centering activity than any true practice of magic.

“I am focusing.” 

The vase gave a feeble rocking before it stilled. Across the room Bucky had his vase twirling slowly while he made goo-goo eyes at Steve which was returning. Why couldn’t he and Jack look at each other that way? The jealousy was sharp and unexpected. It stabbed through his chest like a blade. The vase rocketed upwards, exploding into a million tiny pieces of crystal as it careened with the stone ceiling. Rainbow shards rained over Brock but Coulson made a quick motion that had all the pieces reassembled. Then a crystal vase sat before him, as if it had never happened. 

“Perhaps that’s enough for one day.” Coulson decoded after a moment of contemplation.

Relieved Brock swept up things and started for the door, refusing to look back and see what expressions his friends wore. 

“Brock,” Coulson called and Brock slowly, regretfully turned. “Good luck tonight.”

•• •• •• ••

Dark Baptisms took place during the witching hour: 3AM. 

The Academy was still and far too quiet though Brock figured he should be happy no one saw him in the weird black robe he was wearing. He had decided to allow his familiar to come to him in whatever form was fated. He was nearly consumed with anxiety but more than that he was upset that Jack had skipped his last dinner before it and hadn’t even offered a parting word of good luck. 

Did Brock truly mean nothing to him?

He descended toward the bowels of the Academy. The air grew cold and moist, the smell of dirt filled his nose. His heart pounded as he stepped, body tense and prepared for something about he wasn’t certain what. 

He followed the corridor, illuminated by the flickering light of torches with black flames that cast unnatural lights. Shadows seemed larger and distorted. The sound of his footsteps muted and then as he reached the end, every torch went out plummeting him into darkness. 

His skin prickled and his breath quickened. He considered an incantation of his own and to flee but something told him to keep going. So he continued forward blindly, hands trembling and pulse racing. 

As suddenly as the torches had gone out, new ones lit around him, outlining a pentagon. A podium lay in front of him and as he stepped towards, flames flickered to life, leaving behind a book, a quill, and a knife. Somehow, Brock knew what was expected of him and his hands did not shake and he took the hilt into his palm and drew the blade across his palm. Blood beaded to the surface and Brock used it to dip his quill. 

Then, he sighed his name.

The letters seemed to bleed into the page and as he finished the final ‘m’ the book was alight once more. And then everything went black.

•• •• •• ••

Brock awoke in the field behind the Academy. The delicate smell of dew comforted him a moment before a rustle to his left had him reeling away. 

A canine looked at him, eyes the same color as his own. His familiar. In the moonlight he could make it out as a Doberman, black as the night above them. “So you’re it, huh?”

He flicked his cropped ears in confirmation. Brock flopped back in the long grass feeling drained. His familiar came closer, nosing at his hand until Brock slowly slowed him his cut. His familiar swiped it’s tongue over it and Brock watched the skin stitch itself back together. 

“Was it as bad as you expected?”

Brock jolted once more and his familiar’s snarl seemed to make the air around them tremble. Brock dragged his eyes up along a dress that glimmered like it was made of the night sky itself. A woman looked down at him, her face small and dainty and her eyes silvery red. Jet black hair curled over her left shoulder and cross pendant, hung upside down, adorned her thin throat. At first glance she seemed ageless but then he recognized the crow feet in the corner of her eyes and the lines on her forehead. 

She looked...familiar. 

“My beautiful boy, how you’ve grown.” Her voice was soft, a dream that Brock had heard once. He felt small suddenly, unprepared and far too emotional. 

His mother. The one who had abandoned him, the one his father punished him for driving away until he showed signs of magic and was sent to live with his Nonna. “Darling, I never left you. I was always watching you and you’ve made me so very proud.”

“M-mom,” he croaked and threw himself in her arms.

Her skin was a bit cold, a contrast to the warm damp summer night air around them. Brock didn’t care. She smelled sweet, like peonies and rose water and Brock was crying. “Don’t cry Brock, today is a wonderful day.”

“Where did you go?” Brock croaked.

His familiar was resting on his haunches, looking at a silver fisher cat calmly. Her familiar… His mother was a witch, he’d always suspected it even though his father insisted his satantix powers couldn’t have come from her. 

“Home, my sweet boy. Where you will come once you’ve finished schooling. There’s a kingdom awaiting its ruler, after all.”

Brock was confused. It was too much, nothing made sense. “Home?”

“Yes. You will take my position as the Dark Lord when you’ve ascended.”

Brock stood there dumbly. He wasn’t anything special, much less worthy of being the Dark Lord. “I thought that Lucifer was the Dark Lord?”

She laughed. “Lucifer keeps himself busy minding the souls that come to the realm. Governing the witches and warlocks of the world is a bit far beneath him.”

Brock couldn’t believe it. “Why would I only just find out?” He asked, stepping back. This was all some trick, a trial to test him in some way. 

“Because it’s how it had to be, Brock. I know my mother would keep after you. I am sorry you had to spent those years with that mortal but I could not move you until you showed proof of your magic. You can be assured he’s been thoroughly punished and will continue to be so.”

Brock still was certain he understood. She stepped over to him and knelt, taking his face between her hands. “I can see your heart is heavy, my son. Is it because of that boy? I told him he couldn’t tell you until I spoke to you myself.” 

“I — you — Jack — you know about Jack?” Brock finally managed to sputter, both horrified and embarrassed and terrified.

What if she condemned him for it? Cursed him forever or struck him down dead? 

“Calm your mind, Brock. I would never harm you. No one will ever harm you again, should they value their lives. You are the Dark Prince and everyone will know it. And that boy who loves you as much as you love him — ”

“He loves me?” Brock felt delirious. All this information was overwhelming. 

“I’ve yet to see a heart more pure,” she smiled in a secretive way. “He’s been assigned to be your right hand. Separating you two would be simply evil.”

Brock was standing before his mother, the Dark Lord, who telling him that he would one day rule, and that Jack Rollins actually loved him and they would be together forever? It was a dream. It had to be. 

“It’s reality, my sweet boy. I hate to run but as you’ll find it’s quite a busy job. I will see you soon, Brock. It’s so good to be able to see you properly.”

“Mom, wait.” Brock’s voice was quiet and reserved. He didn’t know how to express what he was feeling or how to pluck up the courage to ask but his mother knew already, embracing him with the motherly love he had missed his entire life. “I...I love you.”

“And I love you.”

The ground beneath her yawned open into a massive swirling void of black and then Brock was alone again and trying to cope with a slew of emotions as he slowly started towards his dorm. 

He unlocked the door, feeling numb and found someone sitting on his bed. Then he recognized the long legs and the shaggy dog curled up on the floor so he raised his head to look up at a familiar face. 

“Hey Brock. How was it?”

His gut twisted in apprehension. “Uh, it was weird.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. Nice familiar.” Jack nodded down at the black dog staring distrustfully toward him. 

The moonlight caught Jack’s scar — the scar that Brock loved to kiss. He was so tired. “I met my mom.”

“I know. She’s really nice, huh? Your royal darkness,” Jack did a faux bow while sprawled out and somehow, it made things a bit easier to chew. 

“Do you really like me Jack?”

“What?” Jack looked alarmed and Brock’s hopes plummeted.

A thick feeling formed in his throat and his eyes prickled with tears. “Nothing, it was dumb.”

“I don’t like you, I… I think that I love you.” Jack sat up straighter. “When I was told I’d been the Dark Lord’s right hand I was crushed because I wouldn’t be with anymore. And then the Dark Lord came to me and she explained and I… I don’t know how she knew about us but she did. I guess I was afraid that maybe you wouldn’t want me.”

Brock stopped short, certain he had misheard. 

“What?” His voice rasped with tears.

“I… I don’t want to scare you away but… I really do care for you Brock, so much. I’ve loved you since… Man, since forever but I didn’t want to smother you.”

Brock turned on his heel, sparking with anger. “Smother me? I was asking to spend time with you and you refused!”

“I made an oath to your mother — to the freaking Dark Lord — that I wouldn’t tell you about your fate or about her. I knew I couldn’t keep it in if I got alone with you so I… I had to wait.” Jack looked apologetic, even his familiar whimpered a bit. “I didn’t mean to come off like I didn’t care about you. That couldn’t be any further from the truth.”

Brock lunged forward to kiss Jack. He kissed him until his lungs burned but he was so happy. Never in his life had things felt so good and he wasn’t even considering the Dark Lord aspect. Knowing Jack loves him and that his mother cared for him was all that mattered. He’d deal with the royalty aspect tomorrow. Tonight he just wanted to kiss Jack until he memorized his lips. And then, he wanted to kiss him more.


End file.
